“That may be it,” Captain Brice said as they started off through the woods.
It was a little over a mile to the place where the smoke was rising, and soon they were at the spot it was, as they had surmised, the airplane, but now it was only a mass of twisted and scorched metal. The blazing plane had set fire to some underbrush but fortunately it was not dry enough to do more than smoulder. They quickly beat out all that remained of the fire and then turned their attention to the plane.
“She’s sure one wreck,” Captain Brice said as he surveyed it “I wonder what has become of the man.”
Just then Jack, who was standing on the opposite side saw a foot sticking out from beneath one of the twisted wings.
“Here he is,” he called.
Captain Brice and the farmer quickly came around to that side and the two held up the wing while Jack pulled the man out.
“He’s dead, of course,” the Captain said as he placed his hand over his heart.
Several of the cases of whiskey had been broken open by the fall but a number remained unharmed.
“Care to keep one or two of them as souvenir,” the Captain asked the farmer.
“Wouldn’t have the pesky stuff round the house. I hain’t got no use fer it.”